Bullet Holes, Battle Scars and Love Bites
by OthilaOdal
Summary: A series of short one-shots mostly revolving around Matt and/or Mello. Ratings will range from T to M. [Story#6: Cafe. Summary: Matt is, as usual, late for a date and Mello finds himself considering other options...that don't include Matt.]
1. Death of Time

**About **_**Bullet Holes, Battle Scars and Love Bites: **_Basically a series of one-shots, that according to me, are too short to end up on their own. That means anything I write that's less than 1500-2000 words will be chucked into this little collection here.

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**Death of Time.**

**Characters:** Matt.

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Everything had stopped moving, the sun, the earth, the neon green numbers of the digital clock in Matt's room. Time was dead. The world had ended and Matt was the lone survivor.

**Warnings:** This barely makes any sense…or does it?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note.

**Author's Notes:** Something to think about. Enjoy.

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The sun has stopped rising. The earth stopped turning. The world was still all around me. Time was dead….and has been for ages now….or would've been if the concept of an age had lasted. But for some reason I'm aware of everything. I'm still here.

It has been this way for a while now. I sit here at a laptop, staring blankly at it. I check my emails on each of my five accounts and then I check my phone to see if I missed a call. And then when I have done that I go back to checking my email, living life in this odd loop, like a broken record stuck on repeat. There's no new email, no missed call.

When I realize I'm on a loop I pick up a video game and start playing just so I can fool myself into believing that time hasn't really stopped. Of course it had stopped. Nothing was happening.

I glance at the cracked clock face. The green neon lights tell me it is 4:30am. I squint at it. It was 4:30am an hour ago. I shrug. Time isn't moving.

Quite frankly I have played so many games lately with so little concentration that I have absolutely no clue what I'm playing. It's a pixelated indie horror game of some sort. A sharp noise erupts from the game, it makes me jump a centimeter out of my skin. The corners of my lips curl up in a small barely there kind of smile. That little jump is the first time I have felt alive in what feels like ages.

I notice glare on the screen and frowning I turn to look where the light is coming from. It's the sun. The sun is rising behind me. I frown at it. I thought it had stopped rising. Who pulled my curtains aside? I pull my goggles on. No matter. I have no need for the sun. It's just an illusion. Time has really stopped. I'm the only one aware of the fact that it has. Everyone else is stuck in stand-still.

The sun warms my back. I feel like it's urging me to get up. I frown. It's an illusion. I know it. I'm going mad. It's just an hallucination. Because time has stopped and how could the sun rise if time had stopped?

Frowning and throwing the controller at the screen, irritated by the sun's constant urge, I leave my seat on the floor and look around for a shirt. Any shirt would do. I pull out an old pacman shirt and pull it over my head.

Re-adjusting the goggles, I step out of my room expecting the aftermath of the doomsday to greet me. It'd be dead and silent and still. Everyone would either be dead or frozen in time.

I walk down the empty hallway. My rather large bare feet swat noisily against the cold shiny tiles. As I reach the end of the hallway I hear laughter. It's distant. I frown, eyes wide in disbelief. How could this be? Laughter? Even though time is standing still?

I hear it again, beckoning me. I follow it. It becomes louder, meshed with sounds of clacking plates and spoons and chatter. How? I run towards the tall wooden doors beyond which the noise is coming from. I slam my palms against the wooden doors and push them violently aside.

I'm going mad. It's an hallucination. Time is not moving.

The voices stop. The children in the dining hall at Wammy's are staring at me. Their hot breakfasts are being ignored. There's a little whisper somewhere.

"You don't know him?" The whisper dances in my ears. "He's Matt."

I turn to look for the whisperer. I walk through the aisle, tables on either side, littered with children, gawking at me like I was the odd thing. They're the ones that are odd. Time is standing still. How can they move?

"What's up with him?" Another whisper. I whizz my head towards it.

"They say he's gone mad."

"Mad?" I say but my voice doesn't even make it to my own ears.

"It's ever since Mello left."

The name strikes my blood cold. I stop in my tracks.

"Mello." I whisper. If time is moving again….then maybe….just maybe…

"Matt?" A familiar voice calls out to me. I look for the owner. It's a girl, blonde, short, in blue paint covered overalls. She is Linda. I scurry towards her.

"Where is he?" I croak.

"Where's who?"

"Mello."

"He left Wammy's, Matt." The look on her face is apologetic. Her voice is softer than usual. I hear pity in it. "He's been gone for six months now. You know that, don't you?"

"Isn't he back?"

"No." Her forehead is creasing. She places a hand on my arm, apologetic, feigning concern.

"He's not back." I say. But how could it be?

"No." She repeats. "But it's good to have you back."

I frown. "I haven't been gone."

"No." She smiles. "But you have been locked in your room for the past six months."

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**Author's Notes: **Reviews would make me feel good. Thanks for reading.


	2. The Virgin

**The Virgin.**

**Characters: **Mello, Matt.

**Rating:** M.

**Summary:** Matt hears rumors about his best friend's adult endeavors and decides to confront him. The result unfolds secrets they had both been keeping from each other.

**Warnings: **Mello's mouth and Mello being one sexy pussy cat…..I think Mello is the warning.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own death note.

**Author's Notes:** Back with another one of these with an idea that was floating around for a while until I realized that I was kind of beginning to forget the idea and thought "write it before it completely leaves you". So here we are. Enjoy! :)

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Puberty is a bitch. Your height takes off like a tree. Your voice gets heavy. Hair seems to grow where you don't want it to and your penis does weird things. Did I manage to break the ice or did this conversation get a little too awkward for you?

Either way it barely matters, because I'm going to talk whether you like it or not.

My own experience with puberty was a little different from the other boys around me. My height didn't instantly shoot up. I grew little by little. My body didn't really get bigger. It was just my shoulders that got broad and my limbs seemed to be the only thing growing besides my penis. My voice, however, caught on real fast. And, though I could never grow a beard, not that I wanted to, the blonde bush above my manhood often needed trimming.

All of that wasn't a real problem. I was rather comfortable with my body and already used to grooming myself very carefully. So I did alright. What became a problem, however, was the way I looked at other boys. If I'd find one with a nice round face, sexy messy hair, a broader chest than my own, larger hands, I'd just find myself sweating, biting my lip, legs clenched tightly together.

I am so fucking gay.

And being gay isn't the problem. The problem was the insane reactions I'd get to seeing someone I thought was attractive. Thankfully, most people attributed it to my personality and thought nothing of it. But I knew….I could feel the fire in my chest.

But no guy I had ever met could ignite my fire like he did….he meaning Matt, the redhead next door. The second my eyes would fall on him it'd be like a nuclear explosion and a crash of an icy cold wave at the same time. Smoke would rise, hissing on my skin. A small sideways smile would plaster itself on my face.

You'd think with all that reaction _every_ time I see him, I would've either had him or made an embarrassing mess of myself in front of him but neither is true. For, you see, I am Mello and it takes more than apocalypse to get me to make a move around my Matt.

I'd like to say that proudly but quite frankly I say it with a bit of regret. For it isn't true.

The truth is Matt never looks at me….I mean he does look at me. But he'd rather have his eyes on girls….or video games. It's the sad truth. The guy I've been crushing so hard [oh so hard] on for a year isn't playing on my team.

He's my best friend, though. Go on say it! "**Friendzooooned!**" Have you had your fun yet?

It matters little now because I've spent the past three months trying to get over him and you know what? Soon I will be over him. And that'd be the end of this chapter of my life. And I'd finally give more of my attention to more promising endeavors of messy hair and broad shoulders.

But until then, I'm stuck with this redhead….the redhead that's seated before me, fidgeting with his thumbs, frowning and trying hard to spit something out.

"Would you say it already?" I urge.

"I'm trying!" He whines, looks up at me. I instinctively bite the inside of my lip. "I'm scared you'll get pissed."

I frown. "I will if you sit there and say nothing." I wave a hand between us. "So you've got a pissed Mello on your hands either way."

"It's just a rumor I heard." He fidgets and shakes his head. His hair shakes with his head, fire on wind. Oh fuck me already.

"Tell me, Matt."

He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair, big hands, messy hair. My legs clench together. "Alright." He says. "I just want the truth, okay? So I….just want to know if it's true or not."

I nod. He has heard a rumor about me, one that has been bugging him for a while. He wants things cleared out. I'm willing to indulge.

"I heard…" He hesitantly looks at me through green eyes, afraid of my fits of rage. "I heard…you've been sleeping around."

My shoulders slump. An unimpressed look washes over my face. He doesn't know what all I've done to get over him. Sleeping around is the one thing that works best.

"It's true." I tell him. I lie back on the cotton sheets of my bed. The sun pours through my window onto my skin, setting it ablaze. I bite my lip. Puberty is weird. Do I want to fuck the sun or fuck Matt in the sun? I don't know.

I look at him. He's frowning, staring at the floor. He can't believe it? Should I be making this easier on him?

"So it's true." He looks up at me. I burn hotter than the sun. He frowns again, shakes his head. God that fucking hair! "I-" He bites his lip. I prop myself up on my elbow. He's bewildered. "Who?...Who've..?...Who is it?"

I smile. "You want to know who I've slept with?" I look at him from the corners of my eyes. Are you sure you want to imagine me that way, Matt? Can your straight as fuck brain handle it?

He nods, looks at me.

I sigh, run a finger lightly over my thigh, over the curve of my hips.

"You know Stan from down the hall?" His eyes are wide. I flash him a sideward smile, drooped lids, wet lips. "He was the first." His brow cocks. I want to tell him I'd rather have had him as my first. Oh I'd have given anything for him to be Stan. But the boy is straight. And I need to move the fuck on. "I wanted to explore my sexuality." My back hits the cotton sheets again. I stretch my arms. In effect, my shirt pulls upwards, baring my belly till right above my navel. It's okay…I'm comfortable. "Y'know? I wanted to see what it felt like…what sex felt like. He thought he was gay but he wasn't sure. So he wanted to check. It felt like a good bargain at the time." I glance at him. He's staring, unblinking. "Little did I know the twerp would get so serious about it. He claims he loves me. I told him beforehand. No feelings involved I had told him. But no, the idiot didn't listen."

He frowns, nods. I wish I knew what he was thinking. But sometimes he gets so silent and I get so insecure.

"The second one," I continue, looking up at the ceiling, stretching two fingers at it. "Was Ted."

His face shoots up. I look at him from the corners of my eyes.

"Ted?" He gawks, eyes wide. His upper lip curls slightly upwards. It's disgust. I know it is, despite his efforts to conceal it. "The guy at the public library downtown?"

I nod.

"He's like six years older than you, Mell!" Definite disgust. "He's in college Mello!"

"So what?" I whine, frown, sit up to defend my choices. My knees are against his. "I know he's older. And that's why I picked him. He has more experience." I give him a flirtatious smile, head leaning towards my shoulder, lower lip lightly tucked between my teeth. "And boy is he more experienced." I giggle, cock a brow. "Matt, he knew just what to do. I'd never had such an insane orgasm with Stan. So glad I decided to let him. I mean it was always obvious he liked having me around, the way he was always eyeing me." I punch his shoulder. "Gosh, Matt, older boys are the best."

He's staring. He can barely believe I'm saying what I'm saying. He's my best friend. I have no intentions of hiding who I am from him.

"And the third one was-"

"There's more?" He roars. He looks absolutely out of it now.

"You wanted the truth." I frown. "So yes, the third one was Dimitri."

His hand smacks his face. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no!" He looks at me through his fingers. "The foreign substitute teacher?"

I nod.

His back slumps.

"Be glad he's gone, Matt." I tell him. "That guy was a perv. I mean I knew he was into some weird shit. And I thought, hey, he's older and into something different. Let's see if I'll enjoy it or not."

Another hand smacks against Matt's face.

"I did _not_ enjoy that, I assure you." I point a finger at him. "He's sick in the head and it's a blessing Wammy got rid of him."

"That's enough, Mell." His voice is small, defeated, annoyed, angered. What the hell did I do? I frown, annoyed now. It's his fault anyways. If he'd just take me, keep me, fuck me whatever way he wants to, I wouldn't have to run amuck with my needs.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask. My lips curl upwards in my hatred for his reactions. "You wanted the truth, didn't you? Here it is!" I pull his hands away from his face. "Is it too bitter for you to swallow?"

"Yes." He whispers. He's disgusted with me.

"What? Is it that I'm gay?" I hiss. "Well you're the only one blind enough not to see that."

"No." His green eyes glare at me. "It's not that you're gay." He gets up. "It's that I thought you had more respect for yourself than to throw yourself at every guy that gives you a second glance."

I shoot off my bed, fists clenched. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm trying to learn as much as I can." I yell. "Well forgive me for wanting to be good in bed."

"It's not that you want to be good at it, Mell." His back is towards me. He's halfway to the door. "You're Mello. You'd obviously want to be good at it. It's that the guys you've given yourself to might not share the respect you have for yourself. They might think of you as nothing more than a good fuck."

"What do you know about that?" I laugh at him. "You're a fucking virgin! You can't tell a good fuck from a bad one!" I run a hand through my hair. "You know what? I hope you stay this way, inexperienced like a little kid. And then you find someone you really want to be with. And I hope you make it. And I hope they leave you, utterly dissatisfied with your skills _and _your cock!"

He walks towards the door. I'm fuming behind him. Say something! Don't just walk away!

He stops in the door frame.

"Yes." He barely looks at me when he says it. His hand is on my door frame, big strong hands. I'd do anything to have those hands on me. It's not lust with Matt. It's everything about him. He isn't just some guy eyeing me from across the room. He seems to care about me, about what people think of me. So he keeps tabs with the rumors. He's such a good guy. And I hate him so. "Yes, Mello." He repeats. "I'm sure the person I want to be with wouldn't be satisfied with me." His eyes meet mine.

I swallow my anger. "Do yourself a favor and find someone to fuck." I tell him. "It shouldn't be difficult for you. I see so many girls eyeing you." Oh so fucking many. "It's a miracle you're still a virgin. What's taking you so long anyways?"

His eyes fall on the doorframe again. "I was waiting." He says. "For the guy who's busy fucking people with more experience."

He leaves. I stand there, pride shattered, anger fallen through the floor, eyes wide in disbelief.

How was I supposed to know?

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**Author's Notes: **Lol…I'm late for class. Gotta go. Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you thought of this. Bubyes!


	3. I Have Never

**I Have Never.**

**Characters: **Mello mostly.

**Rating: **M.

**Summary: **A drinking game with his mafia buddies makes Mello nostalgic and think of the one person he had been avoiding thinking about.

**Warnings:** uh….stuff..

**Disclaimer:** I don't own death note.

**Author's Notes:** So I had this idea last year when I was celebrating a friend's birthday and we were playing drinking games. I never wrote it down properly 'cause it was just a little thought, not a fully fleshed out idea just yet. Recently it became a lot clearer so here it is.

Enjoy. :)

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**I Have Never.**

Mello could never understand why everyone he ever met enjoyed harping away about their past. As far as Mello was concerned, the past was in the past for a reason. And yet even the mafia thugs he had made a point to hang out with for the past three years made a ritual out of it, a drinking game, to be played every time they had a reason to celebrate.

The game itself was called "I Have Never" and Mello despised everything about it. The very name made his mouth curl with the sour taste it left on the wetness of his tongue. He could think of a million things he had never done.

The thought was sickening but the men around him enjoyed the game. So he swallowed the foul taste and tried to put up with it. He twirled the shot glass in front of him, sitting silently on the glass surface of the table, filled to brim with the colorless poison he had chosen for the night, vodka. His leather pants squeaked against his seat as he leaned back, fingers still lightly caressing the little glass set before him, leaving ripples on the surface of his poison.

His eyes narrowed at Zakk as he waited for the platinum blonde man to commence his least favorite drinking game. The rules were simple. Everyone on the table has a shot of vodka set before them. Then one person starts the game by telling the rest one thing he, or she, has never done. Those who have done what the person hasn't, drink. Those who haven't, don't. It was a pointless game, aimed only at getting to know each other's past better. And Mello could not give a single care to recalling his past.

"I have never….." Zakk began, rubbing his chin. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he made his decision. "I have never fucked a bitch on a rag."

Mello's mouth curled, his eyes half shielded themselves from the gross sight Zakk's words had painted before them. Some of the men at the table cried out in disgust. But Rod and Rushall took their shots, Rod with a little more flair and pride than Rushall.

"What?" Jack cried out pointing at Rod. "Boss, you have?!"

"A real man isn't scared of a little blood." Rod laughed, glancing at Mello and Mello had to hold back the vomit in the back of his mouth and smile back. "A real man fucks whatever he wants, whenever the fuck he wants."

Mello rolled his eyes once Rod's eyes were off of him._  
_

"My turn…" Rushal muttered, once the sounds of excessively flattering praises aimed at Rod died down. "I have never slept with a man."

Mello flinched as red flashed before him, as though someone had messed with an old wound on his chest. He frowned.

"Liar!" Zakk called out, grabbing Rushall's shoulder. "That one time we found you with that little boy in the alleyway."

Mello's frown deepened. Flaming red danced before him, taking a clearer form with each passing second. It started with just a little flame, spreading little by little, dancing in the wind, until it encircled the contours of a face Mello hadn't dared to recall for the past three years.

"I was just having a bit of fun!" Rushall defended himself against accusations. "I never fucked the kid."

Blue eyes, deep as oceans, shimmered before Mello. Red danced with blue, fire against water. Mello found himself staring at the poison before him. A smile spread on the face that had re-painted itself in his head, the face he'd rather forget. And yet he was amazed by how clearly he could recall the face.

"Oh yeah?" Jose pushed. "How about that time you got drunk and…."

Mello didn't care to listen anymore. His thoughts had taken him elsewhere, into that one place of his mind he liked better unexplored, the memory lane.

He recalled pale naked skin glowing in sunlight, red hair, blue eyes and laughter, loud and free, like music carried on air. And fingers, fingers tangled in each other, pale fingers tracing patterns on Mello's sun kissed skin, hot breath against his neck, a butterfly kiss on his cheek. More laughter. More sunlight. More red. More blue.

The memory had a name and it was Matt and the name itself had gone un-uttered for so long that it felt foreign and yet painfully familiar.

"Matt." Mello's fingers lightly traced his lips as he felt them move to whisper the forbidden name again, the simplest movement yet one causing his heart beat a few times faster.

His eyes flickered back at the men around him. He wondered if he had the time to give in to the temptation of the thought, think back, relive the memory of hair that danced like flames, eyes that glistened like water. The men were still busy loudly discussing whether Rushall's claim could be believed or not and Mello couldn't help but seize the moment.

His heart hastened back to the memory it had once been most fond of as though freed from a cage where Mello had left it to struggle and long to relive it's memories, memories of the afternoon sunlight swarming through an open window onto his bed, memories of white sheets, crumpled and creased under Mello's diamond laced skin, his fingers grabbing at his pillow, the sun littering his skin with sweat. The only thing that had shaded him against the sun was the boy between his legs, leaning over him. The boy was the center of the memory. The boy was Matt.

Mello could almost hear the whimper that had left his lips when Matt had pushed inside of him, tearing him apart, little by little and yet all he had done was arch his back in pleasure and hope it wouldn't show just how badly he wanted Matt to do his worst to him. But his hope had always been in vain, for Matt could always see his need in his eyes. So the boy had taken Mello's hands in his own pulling them up above Mello's head and pushed deeper into him, digging his face in the groove of Mello's neck, biting at his flesh. Mello had freed his hands from Matt's grasp and ran his fingers in Matt's hair, moaning in deep pleasure at the feel of Matt's manhood pushing into him.

Mello frowned deeper. Despite not having thought about it in so long, he knew this memory too well. Soon Matt's thrusts would get harder, faster. Soon Mello wouldn't be able to hold his pleasure back. He would moan with a smile on his face, eyes lightly lidded, a heart soaring in the heavens, a body stained with smooth cream.

He would then lie next to the boy, soaked in sun, sweat and semen alike, playing with his fingers. He would then ask an age old question.

"Do you love me, Matt?"

And Matt would reply with his mantra, the one he repeated every time they found themselves in each other's arms.

"I love you. I'll love you forever. I'll always stay by your side."

It would be followed by a kiss, then a giggle, another kiss, then laughter. More laughter. More sunlight. More red. More blue.

Mello frowned harder. His heartbeat was making him nauseous. After all that repeated behavior, laughter and love, it seemed so strange that Matt was no longer a part of Mello's life. But it was so, despite Mello's efforts.

"Matt, I'm leaving." Mello had whispered in the redhead's ear as they lay in Matt's bed on a cold night in December.

The redhead had pulled back from Mello's embrace and frowned at him.

"Leaving?"

"Leaving Wammy's." Mello had said.

"What? Why?"

Mello had taken a deep breath. "L is dead."

Matt's blue eyes had grown in size. "He picked you?"

"No." Mello had said immediately. "He didn't pick." Silence had fallen between them. "I let Near have it."

More silence.

"Then why're you leaving?"

"I'm going to catch him, before Near."

Matt had sat up, frowning down at Mello in disbelief.

"Are you mental?" He cried. "You're a kid!"

"And so is Near!" Mello's back had left the warmth of the bed as well. "But he's going to be working on catching Kira-"

"Yes!" Matt had argued. "Yes, but with grown trained professionals. What're you going to do alone?"

"Alone?" Mello had stared. "Not alone, Matt." He had smiled, snaked his arms around Matt's shoulders. "With you. Together we can do this."

"This is suicidal, Mello!" Matt had protested pushing Mello away.

Mello had frowned at him. "You told me you'd stay by my side forever."

Mello looked up at the men around him, their laughter and loud rejection of Rushall's claims, thankfully, brought him back from his memories. He frowned at his poison, his fingers still resting against the glass.

"I have never slept with a man!" Rushall repeated, his voice raised as though people would believe him if he raised his volume.

The men continued to protest at his claims, a few threw some crude remarks at him while others laughed. No one noticed Mello's calm or the chaos behind his calmness, the red that still danced before his eyes, the blue that continued to choked him. His eyes fell on the patiently waiting poison set before him in an innocent little glass. He silently brought the glass to his lips and drained it as Matt's final words rang in his head.

"I have never told you that I'd die for you."

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**Author's Notes:** So yeah…I'm not feeling incredibly awesome today so…I've kind of forgotten what I wanted to say. Hope you liked it. Reviews would be nice. Thanks for reading.


	4. A Fight You Lost

**A Fight You Lost.**

**Characters: **Matt and Mello

**Rating: **I quite frankly don't know.

**Summary: **Behind every punch Mello ever landed against anyone's face was a cry for help only Matt could hear.

**Warnings: **None.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note.

**Author's Notes:** It just happened…I don't know how. I was writing the next chapter for The Great Escape and wrote this on the side.

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**A Fight You Lost.**

Mello would lose fights sometimes. He got into so many of them that it'd be a surprise if he won all of them. There were a million and one reasons for him to fight. He got agitated by the smallest things and he always had so much to prove.

"Prove that you're not a girl."

"Prove that you're the best."

"Prove that you're worth our time and attention."

"Prove that you're worthy of being L."

"Prove that you're better than Near."

And he was under the impression that by a few punches he could put himself above the rest, beyond the rest, have power over them. So he punched, kicked, yanked, bit and was savage when he did so. Matt would watch, lips slightly parted. Whether Mello was besting the toughest guys or being bested, Matt would watch. Somehow, he was the only one aware that each punch Mello landed on someone else's face, dented Mello's heart a bit more than the last had done. Each punch was a cry for help. Each punch screamed "Believe in me. Notice me. I'm not worthless. Look at me. Look at me! Look at me…."

He punched and kicked thinking maybe, just maybe, if he won someone might respect him for once and with each punch, Matt would think that maybe, just maybe, Mello might beat his pain into someone, might win for once. But they were both deluded.

When Mello lost a fight, it was worse. The broken nose, the black eye, the bruises, the bites, never hurt Mello as much as the realization that the words he had tried to punch into someone didn't reach anyone. But he was deluded.

They reached Matt. Win or lose, they always did.

After one such fight Mello lost, Matt found himself standing over the blonde when the rest were done with him, leaving him broken, bleeding, bruised on the cold tiles of the classroom floor.

"The fuck do you want?" the blonde barked and Matt smiled. Not only was that the first time the blonde had ever spoken to him but he was also glad that though the boys might have broken Mello's lip and maybe his arm, they hadn't broken his spirit.

"Here." Matt said, crouching next to Mello and handing him a tissue to wipe the blood that trickled down his broken lip.

Mello frowned at the tissue suspiciously but took it anyway.

"I hear you." Matt whispered. "I believe in you. There's nothing to prove."

Mello stared at Matt, wide-eyed.

"The hell are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm saying." Matt said, pulling out a cigarette, ignoring Wammy's warnings of lung cancer and burning down the orphanage. Maybe, just maybe, he and Mello weren't so different after all. Where Mello tried to pound his pain into people, Matt damaged himself just to hear two words out of someone about how he would die of lung cancer, just so he could pretend someone cares.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." Mello stammered. But he knew and Matt could tell but Mello would deny weakness.

Matt smiled and planted a gentles kiss on Mello's broken lips, tasting blood on his tongue.

"You're perfect." He told Mello. "I love you."

And Mello didn't fight anymore.

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**Author's Notes:**

Whelp...so that happened...Reviews would be lovely. Thanks.


	5. Cuddles

**Cuddles.**

**Characters: **Matt and Mello.

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Cuddles were Matt's least favorite part of his relationship with Mello.

**Warning: **None.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note.

**Author's Notes: **I'm sorry but I'm seriously unaware of what I'm doing at the moment.

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Cuddles with Mello were easily Matt's least favorite part of their relationship. Matt had a short attention span and needed to keep his mind busy but Mello, no, Mello was a hard worker. He gave his work hard attention and finished it all up in one go and afterward need serious companionship.

Hence, Mello would cuddle when he was finished with his work. He'd find Matt in bed, a handheld held high in the air, and he'd crawl right on top of Matt, like a cat. He'd bury his face in Matt's chest shaking his head as if he was digging it deeper into Matt's chest. It was painful but Matt would resist the urge to show pain until Mello would "dig" too far. Then he'd let out a little "ow", hearing which Mello would look up at him, kiss his lips and plop back onto his body. This time, however, Mello's chin would land over Matt's shoulder, his lips lightly caressing Matt's neck, his hair tangled with Matt's.

Matt wondered why Mello always repeated this act when the blonde knew it would hurt him. But after years of being involved with Mello, he realized it was just Mello way of asking Matt to acknowledge his presence. Mello was like that. He would never directly ask for what he wanted. He'd win what he came for.

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**Author's Notes: **Like I said...I don't know what I'm doing. Reviews would be nice though. Thanks.


	6. Cafe

**Café.**

**Characters: **Matt and Mello.

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Matt is, as usual, late for a date and Mello finds himself considering other options...that don't include Matt.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note.

**Author's Notes: **Sometimes [meaning every time] when I'm out live sketching at cafés I like to imagine Matt and Mello at cafés. That's where this came from.

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Matt was always late for their weekly dates, Mello knew. At first it used to bother him but the older their relationship got the more routine the lapse became and Mello no longer bothered waiting and wondering. He simply got to the café, ordered a moccaccino and caught up on his reading.

The clink of a hot cup being set on his table distracted Mello from his reading.

"Thank you." He said, looking up at the waiter.

The waiter smiled at him. Not your regular everyday smile that you'd give to anyone passing you by or sharing the elevator with you. But a smile that seemed to be meant for him, a smile coupled with a look that lingered on Mello's face and made one of his brows travel further up his forehead.

His back straightened. _Am I being hit on while waiting for my boyfriend?_ He wondered watching the waiter leave.

He shook his head. He could've easily misinterpreted the waiter's intentions, he thought, looking back at the book in his hands and trying to focus on the words. The words were making no sense mixed with all the background noise in his head. He glanced towards the waiter and found that he was still watching Mello, smiling at him.

Mello looked away and, for some reason, considered for a second. _I mean he is good looking. _He found himself thinking.

The waiter walked by the front of Mello's table to serve the table next to him. _He has a nice ass. _Mello thought before grinning to himself and looking back down at the words he was no longer paying attention to. He gave himself the time to really look at the man. He was tall in his neat dress pants, despite the apron around his waist, and stood straight with a broad back and toned arms. His face was clean. His black hair neatly combed back.

"Sorry I'm late!"

Mello's head twisted to source of the voice. Matt was rushing at the table, out of breath and yet smiling. His red hair was disheveled. His pants hadn't been ironed in forever. His boots were undone. His nails were chipped and there was ash on his shirt and all over his goggles.

Mello rolled his eyes at the redhead as he took the seat in front of him and sighed.

"Matty, how many times must I tell you to clean your damn goggles?" He pulled the contraption off Matt's head. "Vision is important. You're going to get yourself into an accident." Mello pulled out a tissue and wiped the lens. "And then I'm going to sit here forever waiting for you to come and who's going to tell me you're dead somewhere, huh? How am I supposed to find out? From the news channel?"

Matt simply stared at Mello, watching the blonde go on and on about how careless and improper Matt was. He rested his elbow on the table, his head on his hand and listened, smiling. He then leaned across the table and pecked Mello on the cheek.

The blonde stopped wiping the lens. His eyes went wide. Blood rushed to his face and he was sure he resembled a tomato. He could feel the heat on his face, the hammering of his heart against his ribs. His breath got hotter. He frowned down at the goggles.

"Gah!" He said, face still red as the sinking sun. "This thing won't come off."

He scrubbed the lenses harder to wipe away ash that wasn't even there anymore. He could feel Matt's smile spreading ear to ear. He was sure the redhead could see the honey glow in his cheeks.

Matt turned around to call the waiter.

Mello looked up at the men as Matt placed his order but all he saw was Matt. His hair was wildfire. Mello could remember how it had looked last week when they had gone greek, the way it tousled up in Mello's hands, tickled and brushed his skin when Matt kissed his neck. His sickly pale skin had come to life with red where Mello dug his nails and bit his nipple. His chapped lips had glistened when Mello had left them wet. His hands, with those chipped nails, had searched Mello's body for the right spots, sending shivers over his skin when they managed to find them.

Mello saw Matt and then the waiter next to him, a foreign man, too neat, too proper, too boring.

When the waiter left and Matt turned his attention back to Mello he found a small smile on the blonde's face.

"What?" Matt asked.

"You should iron your jeans." Mello told him. "You look like a hobo." He leaned in and pressed their lips together. "Maybe we could go home and take them off and I could iron them for you."

Matt smiled at him. Mello's eyes shot at his lips as the redhead quickly ran his tongue over them. He watched as Matt adjusted himself in his seat and felt as his leg pressed against Mello's.

"Maybe…" He said.

And Mello knew the wait was worth it.

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**Author's Notes:** Just something I typed down really quick while taking a break from the college assignment I'm working on today. I've been having some difficulty writing lately so it's kind of nice to be putting up something after so long. Reviews would be wonderful. Thanks.


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